Jillian Larkin - Vixen (Flappers)

A girl needs partners when she dances, and Ive had some of the best. My thanks to Ted Malawer and Michael Stearns at The Inkhouse; and Krista Vitola, Barbara Perris, Trish Parcell, and the whole brilliant chorus line at Delacorte Press and Random House Childrens Books. Special thanks to Chip Gibson, Beverly Horowitz, and Wendy Loggia for believing in The Flappers from the very beginningyou are all the cats pajamas.

Jillian Larkins fascination with flappers and the 1920s began during her childhood, which included frequent home screenings of the classic Julie Andrews/Carol Channing film Thoroughly Modern Millie. She lives in New York.

Find out what happens next when

INGENUE

goes on sale in 2011!

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GLORIA

They found the entrance exactly as instructed: just before the cracked sign for Malawers Funeral Parlor, between the tailor and the barbershop, through the rusted gate, eleven creaky steps below street level. After theyd knocked precisely three times, a tiny slit in the boarded-up door slid open.

Whats the word, doll? One dark eye blinked at them.

Gloria opened her mouth and froze. This was the moment she had practiced endlessly in front of her bedroom mirror: saying the secret password to be admitted into the hottest speakeasy in Chicago. So what if it was the first time shed ever snuck out of her house, lied to her parents, or been in the city alone? Not to mention that her dresswhich shed bought only the day beforewas so short that one gust of wind could turn her from flapper to flasher like that.

Come on, I dont got all night! the Eye barked.

Sweat began to bead on her upper lip. She could almost feel it caking the layers of her meticulously applied makeup and cracking the surface of her finishing powder.

Ouch!

Marcus, her best friendwhod taken on the role of accomplice/chaperone for the eveningjabbed her in the side. Just say it already!

Gloria inhaled sharply: It was now or never. Ish Kabibble?

Wrong. Now scram!

And just like that, the Eye disappeared.

Gloria glared at Marcus. You have got to be kidding me.

It was Ish Kabibble the last time I was here! he said. Steps below the street, the bluish night softened the harsh angles of his golden-boy featureshis sharp cheekbones and jaw, the habitual smirk he woreand made him look infallible. Trustworthy. Swoony, even.

Gloria could see why girls threw themselves at him, of course, but her own relationship with Marcus was three parts brother-sister to one part sexual tensiona healthy, balanced equation for any male-female friendship.

Youve been here a total of wait, let me countone one. Once. Right, one time, Marcus. And that was merely because you paid your friend Freddy to take you.

Well, at least Ive actually been inside, Marcus said, crossing his arms with a sigh. Let me take you home.

Home? A few miles away by car, only it felt more like a few thousand. Her fathers gleaming Mercedessneaked from the garage after the familys driver went to bedbeckoned to her from beneath the streetlight. Maybe she should just return to the quiet, safe, boring tree-lined Astor Street that she knew so well. She could make it into bed scot-free by one a.m. and even fit in a few flash cards before her European history exam tomorrow. But wasnt that exactly what people always expected her to do? Make the safe, good-girl choice?

No, she couldnt leave now, not when she was one door away from carrying out the first and only rebellious act of her entire life. She was already here. She just had to get inside.

Gloria pounded on the door again.

The slit opened up a crack. You again? You got a choice chassis, kid, but if you dont go home to your daddys this second, Ill call security

Wait. All I ask is one single clue. She pouted her brightly painted strawberry lips because, well, pouting always worked in the movies. If I get it on the first try, were in. If not, we disappear.

The Eye squinted menacingly. Does this look like some kinda party guessing game to you?

I wouldnt know, Gloria said coolly. She could hear the band inside begin to play, its jazzy rhythms spilling out onto the street in muted tones. I dont go to parties. And I save my games for men.

The Eye glanced at Marcus. This ones a real bearcat, aint she?

Glo? A bearcat? Ha! Marcus said, laughing out loud.

Fine. The Eye rolled. Heres your clue: Its a dirty deed youre too young to do.

Marcus jumped in. Thats easy, its

The girls got to get it, or I shut this door in your face forever!

The phrase was on the tip of Glorias tongue. Oh yes, her best friend, Lorraine, had written it in a note during biology yesterday: Oh my gawdWelda, my lab partner, was just suspended she was caught in the bathroom during last wknds dance with the CAPTAIN of the football team giving her a good

Barney-mugging, Gloria whispered huskily. Then she blushed, embarrassed to have said out loud the dirtiest term she knew for sex.

The Eyes slit closed and the door opened. Welcome to the Green Mill.

It was as if she had walked right into the rebel side of heaven.

A dense cloud of smoke hung near the ceiling of the windowless roomeveryone seemed to be holding a lit cigarette. The smoke was shot through with dazzling beams of light from the stage, and from the sequined dresses and the crystal coupes of champagne. At the front of the room, a mahogany bar overflowed with debonair men in suits and tuxedos, nursing tumblers of amber liquid and puffing thick cigars. And in the plush green booths along the walls were more men, shifty-eyed and menacing even as they chewed on hamburgers and slapped down cards.

And moving among all the men, flitting about in glittering flashes: flappers. Thats what todays independent women called themselves, Gloria knew. As carefree and glamorous as if theyd been ripped straight out of a glossy fashion spread in Vogue or the set of some extravagant Hollywood movie. They were everywhere. Lazily dallying, dangling long cigarettes between their jeweled fingers, showing off their Charleston moves on the dance floor, and flirting shamelesslyall pouty lips and cocktails. With their fiery red boas draped over their bare shoulders, peacock feathers shooting out of silver headdresses, oxblood lipstick painted in perfect bows, and strand upon strand of creamy pearls, sequins, and rhinestones, they looked like exotic birds. And there was so much skin. More exposed skin than Gloria had even seen at the beach.

She had never felt so out of place. At Laurelton Girls Preparatory, she was the president of the Honor Society, an example for the rest of the girls. But here, Gloria was that poorly dressed, unwashed foreign exchange student from whereverArkansas, maybewhom nobody bothered to eat lunch with. Her peach chiffon sleeveless dress, with its delicate lace on the shoulder and billowing skirt, was positively flapperesque in the store yesterday. Now it not only looked entirely too long, too plain, but pink, of all colors, in this dim lighting! She felt like a Victorian.